“I believe she did.  She moved out a week ago.”

“Do you know where she moved to?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Does a boy named Philip Brent live here?”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“Do you know why Mrs. Forbush moved away?” asked Alonzo again, at the suggestion of his mother.

“Guess she couldn’t pay her rent.”

“Very likely,” said Alonzo, who at last had received an answer with which he was pleased.

“Well, ma, there isn’t any more to find out here,” he said.

“Tell the driver—­home!” said his mother.

When they reached the house in Twelfth Street, there was a surprise in store for them.

“Who do you think’s up-stairs, mum?” said Hannah, looking important.

“Who?  Tell me quick!”

“It’s your Uncle Oliver, mum, just got home from Florida; but I guess he’s going somewhere else mum, for he’s packing up his things.”

“Alonzo, we will go up and see him,” said Mrs. Pitkin, excited.  “I must know what all this means.”

CHAPTER XXVIII.

An unsatisfactory conference.

Mr. Carter was taking articles from a bureau and packing them away in an open trunk, when Mrs. Pitkin entered with Alonzo.  It is needless to say that his niece regarded his employment with dismay, for it showed clearly that he proposed to leave the shelter of her roof.

“Uncle Oliver!” she exclaimed, sinking into a chair and gazing at the old gentleman spell-bound.

Mr. Carter, whose back had been turned, turned about and faced his niece.

“Oh, it is you, Lavinia!” he said quietly.

“What are you doing?” asked his niece.

“As you see, I am packing my trunk.”

“Do you intend to leave us?” faltered Mrs. Pitkin.

“I think it will be well for me to make a change,” said Mr. Carter.

“This is, indeed, a sad surprise,” said Mrs Pitkin mournfully.  “When did you return from Florida?”

“I have never been there.  I changed my mind when I reached Charleston.”

“How long have you been in the city?”

“About a week.”

“And never came near us.  This is, indeed, unkind.  In what way have we offended you?” and Mrs. Pitkin put her handkerchief to her eyes.

There were no tears in them, but she was making an attempt to touch the heart of her uncle.

“Are you aware that Rebecca Forbush is in the city?” asked the old gentleman abruptly.

“Ye-es,” answered Mrs. Pitkin, startled.

“Have you seen her?”

“Ye-es.  She came here one day.”

“And how did you treat her?” asked Mr. Carter, severely.  “Did you not turn the poor woman from the house, having no regard for her evident poverty?  Did you not tell her that I was very angry with her, and would not hear her name mentioned?”